Following in her Footsteps
by hnybnny
Summary: Everyone in the Wasteland knows the tale of the Lone Wanderer. The woman who crawled out of a vault, as naive as it came, in search of her father and ended up saving the Capitol from the Enclave. She lost a lot of people along the way- dad included At least, that's what she thought as she fled D.C. They say history is doomed to repeat itself; and thus it was, as James followed her.
1. Chapter 1

The Mojave was unforgiving.

He learned that quickly. The dust bit into his skin, tore at his clothes, and got practically _everywhere_. His first encounter with a sandstorm had led him to bunkering down in an abandoned house while vainly attempting the wash the grit from his tired eyes. His gun hadn't fared much better- being oblivious of how to actually clean it, he had to toss it aside in place of a crude lead pipe. The heat was intense, the sun pounding down on him as he walked along the worn remains of highways. He found himself nearly wishing for a nuclear winter- he'd almost take radiation over this nigh-unbearable temperature. _Almost_. His clean water ran dry quickly, and he grew used to the sharp tang of radiation. The night was, dare he say it, better. Back home (could he even call it _home_ anymore?) night meant _death_. The absence of light was the most opportune hiding spot for raiders, for ferals and radroaches. But here? In this Old World land, reclaimed by the earth? Night was peaceful. It was cool, and the brisk wind felt good against his weathered face. The geckos hunkered down until the sun came up again, and raiders were few and far in between. Every now and then he would come across a large, hulking robot slowly meandering its way down the road- he tended to trail after them, as he found out that these patrolling machines had more firepower than the average Brotherhood soldier. Nothing awed him more than a simple mantis being obliterated by a missile barrage. He supposed it _did_ get the job done.

The man preferred travelling at night, spending his days in whichever town he came across first, learning more about this side of the wasteland that was so _foreign_ to him. Legion, New California Republic, Great Khans… the meaning of these names were lost upon him. He knew some of the Legion; it was their territory he had traipsed through in his venture west. He was glad he did so, for he learned that NCR, as they were commonly referred, territory was much wilder than the Bull's. They were spread too thin was the common consensus. Not that these people praised the Legion either- criticism fell just as quickly from their lips for Caesar and his nation. These people, once he found himself in the Mojave, had no affiliations. They were independent. They cared naught for the politics of the warring factions, and simply wished to live their lives. _Live_. Not just survive.

This is what amazed the man the most- the conditions of the West. This was _civilization_ , pure and true. There were towns of people who could live day to day without cowering in constant fear of the environment around them. The NCR and Legion were actual governments, ruling over more than just a single town. They had trading routes, leaders, towns that were protected. Cities that were prospering, thriving, people living a life they would have lived pre-War, without a care in the world for deathclaws or Super Mutants. They had food; they never went hungry. They never had to drink irradiated water.

The East coast was leagues behind the West. And while the desert was unforgiving… the man had to admit it was much better than wandering around the harsh landscape of the Capitol.

At least there were _some_ plants here.

He had heard tales of the Old World city, nearly untouched by the invisible fires that had rained down two-hundred years ago. Buildings still stood as intact as the day they were built (perhaps a tad more worn, but, so was everything). The towering spire that glowed as bright as day, a beacon in the darkness of the desert around it, caught the man's eye as soon as his feet met cracked dirt. It was visible even from a three days journey away, and he had inquired about it at every stop he made.

 _New Vegas_.

The glittering city of vice and sin- at least, the Strip was. Vegas, he soon learned, referred to a large outcropping of land from the NCR Mojave Outpost, with the statue of the two rangers which he was confused as to how it could have possibly been made, to a place called Nellis AFB. The moment he brought it up in a raggedy bar he had been told to never go anywhere near- ' _a bunch of homicidal idiots, those lot is._ '

He had different prospects than visiting an old military base, anyways.

It was a quaint yet quiet town where the man got what he was looking for. _Goodsprings_ , the proudly-standing sign said. A town that wouldn't have looked out of place in those old Westerns that they used to play every Saturday night in the vault.

He leaned forwards on his barstool, catching the eye of the bartender; Trudy, she was called. Taking a sip of his drink (how odd tasting it was compared to the Nuka Cola he was used to…), switching his gaze to the radio on the counter, blaring some tune he had never heard about some fellow named Johnny Guitar. It was the third time it had played since he had sat down in the saloon, and frankly, it was getting annoying.

"So." Trudy broke the not-so-quiet silence, resting an elbow on the counter and looking expectantly at him. "You don't look like you're from around here, honey."

No, he did not. With his Vault suit and Pip-Boy, he must have stuck out like a sore thumb. He hadn't found as much evidence of vaults- except for that one community that was aptly named _Vault City_. His suit was worn and weathered from years of use, with poorly-patched holes and dark crimson stains that couldn't have been anything else. Around his neck was a kerchief, which he had picked up early on in Two Sun after spitting out one too many mouthfuls of dust. Likewise for the biker goggles perched atop his greying hair. The man chuckled, tired. "I'm… looking for someone."

"Really?" The mayor slash bartender rested her other elbow on the counter, propping her chin up in her hands. "Who? Maybe I can help… not saying I can, but we try to be as helpful as we can in our little town." A smile graced her young features.

After a moment's hesitation, the man reached into one of the suit's numerous pockets, and pulled out a wrinkled and folded picture. He carefully unfolded it, and smoothed it out with a calloused hand. It was an old picture of the man, much younger with hair that still held color, and a woman- who seemed to be around nineteen, give or take a year or two. They both wore suits like the one the man wore now, and they were posed with large smiles. The girl bore a striking resemblance to the man, and in the background, the monstrously large hull of an aircraft carrier, cracked in half, was visible. Trudy raised an eyebrow, gazing at the picture, then back up.

James took a deep breath.

" **_I'm looking for my daughter._ ** "


	2. Chapter 2

"By the authority of the President, this facility is now under United States government control."

The man's voice was authoritative and oh so clearly self-righteous that James had to suppress a grimace, lest he anger the two soldiers flanking the man on either side. "The person in charge is to step forward immediately, and turn over all materials related to this project." He continued, expecting his demands to be met with a smug smile and an ending lilt of his annoying accent.

James opened his mouth to speak, to reject this man's outrageous request that would be desecrating everything his wife stood for, but stopped short when there was the clanking sound of someone hurriedly climbing the steps and his daughter appeared at the clear wall alongside a horrified Doctor Li, confusion clouding her young face. They shared a brief glance as James attempted to give her a reassuring smile, but was then forced to nervously turn his attention back to their 'visitors' when the man cleared his throat impatiently. "I'm afraid that's quite impossible. This is a private project; the Enclave has no authority here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave." James stated bluntly, hoping he was able to hide the fear in his voice. Everyone knew of the Enclave; the remains of the United States government, and their hatred of all that was impure, that was unlike the Old World destroyed when the bombs fell.

"Am I to assume, sir, that you are in charge?" The man queried with a raised eyebrow.

James paused briefly. "Yes… I am responsible for this project." He saw Doctor Li vigorously shaking her head 'no' as he said those words, but he ignored her. Lying wouldn't get him anywhere here- if anything, it would get the others hurt. It would get his daughter hurt.

"Then I repeat, sir," At least he's polite, James thought with an internal chuckle to himself, "that you are hereby instructed to hand over all materials relating to the purifier."

"I'm sorry, but that's-"

"Furthermore, you are to assist Enclave scientists in assuming control of the administration and operation of this facility at once."

"Colonel... " He attempted, "Is it Colonel? I'm sorry, but the facility is not operational. It never has been. I'm afraid you're wasting your time here." He wasn't lying- Project Purity had never been truly operational. They were so close, so close to getting it online when Catherine…. When his daughter was born, and they had to take up residence in Vault 101. He had hoped that current day that, with the assistance of Li and his child, they would finally be able to get it up and running. But there was always roadblocks, it seemed, and the Enclave were posing quite a huge one.

"Sir, this is the last time I am going to repeat myself. Stand down at once, and turn over control of this facility." The colonel's accent thickened as his patience began to wear thin, and the seed of worry in the pit of James's stomach was growing increasingly… well, worrisome.

"Colonel, I assure you that this facility will not function. We have never been able to successfully replicate test results-"

James was cut off by the gunshot, the scream; and the dull thud of the body hitting the metal floor.

He in a panic backpedaled, bumping against the console as he stared aghast at the body of Li's assistant, blood slowly seeping into the pristine white lab coat she wore. James looked from the body to Madison and his daughter, who seemed to be the source of the scream. Madison was pale, staring at the ground and not meeting his gaze. His daughter was clinging to the bulkhead door as if it was the only thing keeping her upright, and James could swear tears were falling down her cheeks.

"I suggest you comply immediately, sir, in order to prevent any more incidents." The colonel passed a meaningful glance at the bulkhead door where James's daughter was staring at the scene in utter horror, eyes pleading for her father to do something, or to at least just stay safe. "Are we clear?"

"Yes, Colonel. I'll do whatever you want; there's no need for more violence." God, give him strength. If this colonel was willing to murder a woman in cold blood, then who knew who else he was willing to do.

"Then you will immediately hand over all materials relating to this project, and aid us in making it operational at once." James swallowed, his apple bobbing, as he fully realized how truly impatient these Enclave were at the moment. Impatient soldiers made for trigger-happy ones, he had learned.

Faced with little other option, he finally relented. "Very well. Give me a few moments to bring the system online." A shout of 'no!' came from outside the rotunda, muffled by the thick glass walls. James sighed as he turned to the console, tapping at the controls. The number pad seemed to glow, beckoning him to just press in those three numbers; 2-1-6, to do what the colonel said and prevent Madison or his daughter, or anyone else from getting hurt.

But he couldn't. The Enclave had something up their Old-World sleeves, and he knew it. Them having control of the Capitol's only potential source of pure water, control of the future of the Wasteland, was a thought he couldn't stand to bear.

"I grow tired of waiting." The colonel snapped, tapping a boot against the metal obnoxiously. James resisted the urge to scowl in response, and kept his attention on the console.

"It'll only be a few more moments." He promised, index finger hovering over the button that would activate the failsafe, that would hopefully prevent the Enclave from being able to take control of Project Purity and all the potential that lay within. "I'm so sorry, Catherine…" James murmured under his breath, saying a silent prayer for his late wife to forgive him, for his child to forgive him. With a deep breath he entered the command, and in an instant the rotunda was shook with a deafening blast. The Geiger counter on his Pip-Boy was clicking madly as the room was flooded with radiation, and James stumbled over to the door with his remaining strength. Behind him, the colonel hit the ground, and his soldiers were struggling.

His daughter was yelling, crying, pounding on the door in a futile attempt to open it, or something, anything. One opened hand lay against the surface of the door, and James, with a weak smile, placed his gloved hand against hers. God, she has grown into a beautiful, intelligent woman… so much like her mother. James regretting having to leave her after all they had been through, after all she has done to find him.

Another explosion shook the rotunda, and there was the hurried yells of soldiers outside. James's strength was fading fast, and he could hear the colonel's dying gasps from behind him. Served the bastard right...

"...run… Run!" The words fell from the father's lips with drops of blood, and within moments James collapsed to meet them. He slumped against the door, the sweet embrace of unconsciousness beckoning and grabbing at his mind. Everything hurt, but there was a sort of… peace in the moment. His daughter was still banging at the door, begging for him to wake up. As the world grew black, he heard Li convincing his daughter to leave, to escape- but behind her voice, behind the clicking of his Geiger, there was another voice.

The voice he knew as that of his love.

'It's alright, James.'

'Catherine…?' He murmured feebly, unable to reach out to where he swore he saw her form, as beautiful as ever, standing beside him. Catherine did not walk closer nor did she take his hand. The specter just shook her head with a smile, turning heel and walking away, leaving James alone in the blackness as it finally consumed him.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you leaving?"

The Lone Wanderer jumped at the sudden young voice, head turning quickly from the cracked sink mirror towards the doorway of their small quarters in the Citadel. A boy peeked in, halfway leaning in to the room while his hands held tight to the doorframe. He looked up at the Wanderer through shaggy brown bangs, shifting his stance slightly, fidgeting, with a patchwork coat far too large for him drooped across his figure to form a silhouette too mature for just a kid.

The Wanderer instinctively tightened their grip on the edge of the sink- they had hoped to leave without much fanfare or way of goodbyes- they had always been bad at that, goodbyes- but with how busy the Citadel was, even after the sun had set, they should have expected that would be near-impossible. They sighed. The one thing they had thought they were sure of was that Arthur Maxson would be asleep.

"Yeah… but you know me, always coming and going." They offered half-heartedly with a shrug and a forced chuckle.

Arthur Maxson shook his head and stepped fully into the doorway, fingers plucking idly at the hems of his coat sleeves as if he was nervous and attempting to hide it. "No, I mean- I mean, are you leaving for good?"

Ah, hell. Damn this kid- he was awfully perceptive.

They found themselves unable to meet the boy's gaze as they swallowed hard and nodded.

"Were you really gonna leave without saying goodbye?" He sounded so… sad .

Their throat was suddenly dry, and they had seemingly forgotten how to form words. Arthur still looked up at them, expectantly. They managed to pull their head forward, to glance at him as they bit their lip. He was so young. Damn all that being a descent of the founder bullshit, he was a child . He didn't belong here- and neither did they.

Exhaling deeply, the Lone Wanderer got down on one knee in front of Arthur, lowering themselves to his level and meeting his eyes. They briefly entertained the idea of taking Arthur with them, to give him even a fleeting experience of a proper childhood with someone to call family, instead of letting him continue to be molded into a soldier from youth- a little soul, destined for little more than to drill and die. But that wouldn't be fair to him, would it? The Brotherhood was his family now. Besides, they were hardly more than a child themselves. No. As much as their mind battled over it, they knew they had to go alone.

"I've never really liked goodbyes… and I didn't want to make things harder than they already were." They knew Sarah would try her damndest to convince them not to go, and they didn't want to face her father's disappointment- although he wouldn't try to stop them, the guilt would be too much for them. It was easier this way, the Wanderer kept telling themself.

Arthur didn't respond. He looked down at the ground, his shoes suddenly becoming extremely interesting.

The Wanderer reached out and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Just because I'm going away… doesn't mean I'll forget any of you, you know that, right?"

He glanced up, and the Wanderer offered them a smile. It was as much to reassure him as it was themself.

The Wanderer paused as a thought occurred to them. They reached into one of the deep pockets of their vault suit and pulled out a small, hand-woven bracelet with a small charm carved into the visage of a bear dangling from it. Their smile did not falter from their lips, only becoming more genuine as they motioned for a slightly confused Arthur to hold out his hand before placing the bracelet onto his open palm, curling his grip closed as they clasped both hands around his smaller one.

"This was given to me by an old friend… But I want you to have it." The Lone Wanderer spoke softly, their voice wistful.

"Why?"

"So you won't forget about me."

"I could never forget you!" Arthur cried out, eyes wide as if he was being accused.

"I know, I know- but… It's just something to remember me by." The Wanderer smiled softly. "The girl who gave it to me, Yew, said it would give me courage and the wisdom to know when to use my words rather than my fists..." They trailed off, looking at their own calloused hands holding Arthur's, before glancing back up at the child. This child, who would most likely one day lead the Brotherhood of Steel, who had such heavy expectations unwillingly thrust upon him, who had so much to live up to when it was so easy to trip and fall flat. The Lone Wanderer had helped set the stage and create the catalyst for new life and for a new world, but it was up to the Brotherhood of Steel- and Arthur with them, one day- to allow that new world to prosper and thrive. He would be great, the voice in the back of her head. The Wanderer could see it, in the bright young eyes set with a determination that mirrored their own. She could only whisper back, how great?

The Wanderer then squeezed the boy's hand. "I know that it will do the same for you, Arthur Maxson."

They could see the tremble in his lip, the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes even as he straightened his back and stood as tall as he could. They could only hope that the example they had set would be enough for him, knowing how much he looked up to them. Enough to guide him on the right path, the path that would aid the most helpless people- a path that the Wanderer knew was controversial in the Brotherhood, even as Elder Lyons paved it himself. They hoped Arthur would not stray too far from the path, even as he sought to find his own way in the wasteland for he and the ones he would one day lead. For the sake of himself, the Brotherhood, and the people of this post-nuclear hellscape… the Wanderer hoped the boy, much like they themselves had, would make the right choice in the end.

As the Wanderer released Arthur's hand and moved to stand, they were startled as he suddenly leapt forward and threw his small arms around their neck. They paused for only a moment, Arthur clinging tightly to them, before wrapping their arms around him and returning the hug. They squeezed their eyes shut and fought back their own tears that threatened to surface, even as they smiled. They could not cry. They would not cry.

They stayed like that for a minute or two before Arthur finally released them, rubbing at his own eyes, slightly red from crying- the Wanderer hadn't realized, but they felt the damp spot on their shoulder.

"Do you want me to walk you out?" Arthur awkwardly offered, and the Wanderer was set to refuse before he quickly added, "It'll maybe keep people from asking questions at this time of the night, thinking we're just going on a late walk or to the bailey or somethin'."

The Wanderer was silent for a moment, and then nodded. "That sounds like a plan."

So after taking a moment to fully collect their things, together the two walked, one last time, through the lonely stone corridors of the Citadel. Their pace was leisurely, even as the Wanderer kept nervously- perhaps guiltily- shifting the straps of their pack. Neither the Wanderer or young Arthur spoke, their words having already been said- or having no need to be said.

They stopped only at the large, looming metal gate that secluded the fortress from the rest of the Wasteland. The night shift guards had unquestioningly opened them for the Wanderer, and Arthur silently gazed out over the expanse. The Wanderer shifted their stance. There was one caveat of the two walking together- the Wanderer would indeed have to make one last goodbye after all. They hated goodbyes. Goodbyes always seemed so final, ironic as their view was that the Wanderer had no intent on ever returning. After a few moments, they glanced at the bright full moon in the sky, gave a brisk nod to their companion, and then turned to leave.

"See you later, alligator." Arthur suddenly piped up as the Wanderer had just placed their foot over the threshold to the outside.

The Wanderer looked backed, blinked, and then laughed. They would realize later it had been the first time they had truly laughed in far too long. They then gave the young squire, smiling now, a mock salute as they responded simply with a grin.

"In a while, crocodile."

And then, turning back towards the ruins of D.C., they walked out of those solid steel gates one last time.

One hand still holding the gifted charm tight, Arthur waved the other wildly as he and he alone gave them their final send-off. He did not stop until the silhouette of Lone Wanderer faded into little more than a pinprick on the dark horizon, illuminated by the shining moon.

Hours later as they reached the western edge of the Capitol Wasteland, the Lone Wanderer sat down on the fallen husk of a tree, the rising sun against their back, and wept.


End file.
